


In Her Heart Shall Burn

by Jaina_Pridemoore



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bisexual Female Character of Color, Darth Trevelyan, Depression, F/F, Formerly Tranquil Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Found Family, Get it? Because force magic, Hurt/Comfort, NO EXPLICIT SA, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Revenge, emotionally unstable Inquisitor, wrathful Inquisitor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-01-24 20:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21344329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaina_Pridemoore/pseuds/Jaina_Pridemoore
Summary: For thirteen years, Asha Trevelyan was Tranquil.Helpful.Obedient.Unfeeling.Now she desperately wishes she could have stayed that way... and before the ashes settle, so will half of Thedas.
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 72





	1. Responsibility

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up: I might not come back to this for a minute! Phatter fics take priority. Just wanted to post before it disappeared into my drafts.

“She cannot be responsible.” 

Cullen’s jaw twitched. “Surely you cannot think this a _ coincidence.” _

“That is _ not _ what I said.” Cassandra's gauntleted fingers began to tear tiny furrows in the map. “She cannot have been responsible for any magic, but she was obviously _ involved.” _

“You think she was... what, a pawn of the true culprit?”

"What else could she have been? You were a Templar, Commander. You know how the Tranquil are.” 

Cullen’s gaze fell to the map as well, his brow furrowing deeper. “How do we even know the brand is real? It could be a disguise! No one expects treachery from a Tranquil.” 

“Solas assures us that—”

“Ah, the strangely convenient apostate! Of course he does.”

“_All _ mages are now apostates, Commander. And Solas has been nothing but helpful and cooperative thus—”

The sound of a large book slamming shut echoed through the room.

Three sets of eyes turned to the finely-dressed woman sitting prim and proper at the end of the table, the tome in question laid out beneath her golden-brown fingers. 

As was her custom in such contentious situations, the Ambassador made them wait a moment, letting the silence of her disapproval fully descend over the room before saying:

“Asha Trevelyan.” 

“...Trevelyan?” Leliana spoke for the first time in many minutes. “As in... House Trevelyan of Ostwick?” 

“I... cannot say.” Josephine regarded the book, the faintest crease between her brows. “Only eight Tranquil attended the Conclave, and with the exception of the mark on her hand, the prisoner matches one description exactly— the attendee who identified herself as Asha Trevelyan of the Ostwick Circle of Magi.”

“But?” 

"A... great aunt of mine married into House Trevelyan nearly a century ago. The Bann and his children are all cousins of mine, whom I have met on multiple occasions... but I know nothing of any 'Asha'." 

Cullen’s frown deepened. “Could she be of a different Trevelyan family?” 

“There _ are _ no other Trevelyans in Ostwick.”

“Then tell us what you can of them,” said Leliana. 

All uneasiness fled from Josephine’s countenance then, and her next words had the confident cadence of recitation: 

“The Trevelyans are a noble house noted for their piety and their connections with both the Chantry and the Templar Order. Younger members of the family traditionally follow a career in service of the Chantry, either in the clergy or as Templars. The Trevelyans have noble relatives throughout the Free Marches, as well as in Nevarra and Tevinter.”

“There you have it,” said the Spymaster.

Josephine knit her fingers atop the tome, and tilted her head in a way Leliana had seen a great many people charmed by. “I’m not sure I do.” 

“Come now. A child not only ‘cursed’ with magic, but too dangerous to be trusted with it? Too dangerous to be trusted with a _ soul? _ Such a child would bring great shame upon any noble House, let alone one so loyal to the Order.” 

Josephine’s eyes widened in horror. “Surely you don’t mean...” 

“Noble families have disowned children for less.” 

“But to _ erase _ all record of her? That’s...” 

“Callous?” said Leliana. “Yes. And entirely possible. But still only a hypothesis— one I will have my contacts in Ostwick look into. I will take you to see the prisoner as well, so you can check for any family resemblance." 

“What we should be more concerned with,” said Cassandra, somewhat more forcefully than she probably intended, “Is who she will be once she wakes. _ If _Solas is telling the truth, she was Tranquil, and now she is not.” 

Cullen crossed his arms. “I know of no precedent for this. I... imagine she will be distraught, but without knowing _why_ she was made Tranquil...” 

“We will learn that soon enough.” said Leliana. “Hopefully her distress will make her easier to question..." 

“Indeed,” Josephine said faintly.

Cullen huffed. “For now, I suggest we replace the guards around her with Templars. If she couldn’t control her magic _before_ it was taken from her..." 

“I agree,” said Leliana, “But it may be prudent for them to wear unmarked armor. If she thinks herself a captive of the Order, who knows how she might react?"

"...fair enough." 

"What will tell the people?" Asked Cassandra. "They need someone to blame. If all we can tell them is that an unknown group of mages are responsible..." 

Leliana clasped her hands behind her back. "We will tell them the truth: that she was involved but not responsible, and that she is a stepping stone to the true culprits." 

A shout came muffled through the door. Cullen turned toward it, one hand twitching toward his sword-hilt, and Cassandra widened her stance—

The door swung open, spilling a red-faced soldier into the room, breathing hard, gasping out: 

“The healer’s cabin! It’s burning!” 

For a heartbeat there was only the creaking of the door, the panting of the soldier, the distant sound of panic from outside the Chantry— 

Cullen sprinted out the door. 

Leliana turned to the Seeker. “Cassandra, stay with—"

“Of course.” Cassandra stepped closer to Josephine, one hand on her sword-handle, and nodded. 

Leliana spun on her heel and followed Cullen out into the main hall of the Chantry. 

She’d barely made it halfway when the double doors swung open again, nearly hitting the Commander in the face, spilling frigid air into the hall— along with three people: Solas, Adan, and the prisoner slung between them, her arms over their shoulders and theirs around her narrow waist. 

She was unconscious. All three were covered in soot. Adan’s robes were scorched. 

“What happened?” Leliana fell into step beside them. “Who did this?” 

“She did.” Solas kept his eyes forward. “She awoke in a panic, and lashed out. I do not believe it was intentional.” 

Cullen met Leliana’s eye over the elf's shoulder. 

“We have magic-suppressing cuffs.” 

Leliana cast another glance at the prisoner. The woman looked unharmed, save for her unhealthy thinness. Her head hung limply forward, wavy black hair obscuring her face. A face Leliana had already seen— more Rivaini in it than Josephine's, nose wider and more curved, features sharper… 

And the sunburst burned into her brow. 

Only the most skilled and experienced mages could erase scar tissue, once formed. 

_Would _any mage subject themselves to such a mark for the sake of some plot? The rebels were certainly desperate, but… 

But nothing. Leliana _ knew _nothing, and the people were paying for her ignorance with blood. 

She met Cullen’s gaze once more.

“Do it.”


	2. Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which literally everyone gets more than they bargained for. 
> 
> Written in like an hour, unbeta'd.

“Josephine has confirmed the family resemblance. Our prisoner is indeed a Trevelyan.” Leliana followed soundlessly down into the dark bowels of the Chantry. 

The symbolism was not lost on Cassandra. It was like something that blasted dwarf would write. 

“And her family?” 

“It will take more than a few days to collect information on such a well-connected house.” 

Right. Of course it would. 

It only _felt_ like it had been far longer than a few days. 

Cassandra shoved open the door to the cell block, wincing at the shriek of the hinges. 

“If I may,” said Leliana, “I advise we act as if we believe she was indeed Tranquil, regardless of our doubts. If it is a ruse, we will catch her in the lie. If it is truth, we will avoid unduly antagonizing her.” 

Cassandra’s footsteps were loud in the desolate hall. Leliana’s were utterly silent. 

“Cassandra.” 

“I know what I’m doing.” She threw open the final door, and stormed in. 

The prisoner jolted as if struck by the sound, and flinched away from the rasp of swords back into sheaths, falling back onto the cold stone, eyes wide with terror— and wet with tears. 

She was far from the first to look at Cassandra like this… but it usually took at least _ some _ effort on her part to make misguided determination give way to such wild fear. 

No. _ No. _ This woman was their only lead. This woman was a key part of whatever foul ritual had caused the explosion, had _ murdered _Most Holy and all the others—

Cassandra circled, as slow as she could force herself to, grief like oil to the flame of her wrath. 

_ Focus. Seek only the _ ** _Truth._ **

The prisoner worked herself back to kneeling, and stared at her bound hands. 

She was trembling. 

Good. 

Cassandra leaned forward, into the woman’s space, and said: 

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” 

Again the prisoner flinched, though this time she seemed to catch herself in it, and hold herself still. 

As she rose back to full height, Cassandra smelled sweat and lightning. No— Lyrium. But there was something _ off _ about it, something foul… 

“The Conclave is destroyed.” She tried to keep the grief from her voice. “Everyone who attended is dead.” 

She failed. 

Thankfully the anger bled in just as easily. 

“Except for you.” 

The prisoner did not look up. Wavy hair fell like a veil over her features, shoulder length. Raven-dark beneath all that ash, if the security log was to be believed… 

But between filthy locks, Cassandra could clearly see the Sunburst burned into her brow, and the eyes below widening as the prisoner realized what was happening. 

“You… ” Her voice was rough, parched, horrified— “You think _ I _ — _ ?” _

Cassandra seized the wrist of her marked hand. Forced her to look into the sickly green light of it. “Explain. This.”

Then she shoved it away, nearly throwing the prisoner to the ground. 

“I…” The mark flared, light revealing dark tattoos and storm-grey eyes, darting back and forth in what _ looked _ like confusion. “I can’t.” 

She looked up at Cassandra. A single tear rolled down her cheek. 

“What do you mean you _ can’t!?” _

“I don’t know what that _ is, _ or how it got there!” 

A ruse. It _ had _to be. 

“You’re _ lying!” _ Cassandra seized her, ready to shake her, ready to _ beat _her if it meant—

Leliana shoved her back. 

“We need her, Cassandra.” 

Stood between her and the prisoner. Expression neutral, as if this woman _ wasn’t _instrumental to the murder of their sacred charge, as if subtlety could be of any help to them now—

“What is this?” The prisoner looked back and forth between them, distraught. “What’s going on?”

“Do you remember what happened?” Asked Leliana. “How this began?”

“I— remember running. Men were chasing me, and then…” She looked away, face a mask of confusion. “A woman.” 

Leliana crossed her arms. “A woman?” 

“She… reached out to me, but then…” A twitch of frustration. 

If this woman was lying, she was a very good actress… and they didn’t have time to play mind games. 

It was Cassandra who stepped between, now. 

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.” 

The Left Hand scrutinized the prisoner a moment longer, eyes sharp as well-kept daggers. Then she nodded, and left. 

Cassandra considered the woman as well. 

Force magic, Solas had said. Powerful, _ involuntary _force magic, shattering the lanterns and splashing burning oil across parchment, herbs, and wooden walls, setting fire to the healer’s cabin. 

If this woman felt threatened, people could die.

Cassandra gave the guards a meaningful look, and knelt to undo the magic-suppressing cuffs. 

“Are you a Templar?” Asked the prisoner. 

“No.” 

“Are they?” She glanced at the guards.

And Cassandra had never been good at lying, or liked lying—

“Thank the Maker,” the woman all but gasped.

What?

_ “Please.” _ She seized Cassandra’s wrist, and only the look of utter desperation in her eyes stopped Cassandra throwing her off— “I’m not supposed to _be_ like this. I’m not supposed to— to _ feel. _ Make it stop. Please— _take it away again.”_

Cassandra faltered, caught completely off-guard. 

Necessary as it sometimes was, Tranquility was _horrid._ A mutilation of the spirit… and this woman was _ begging _ for it.

This woman wasn’t a spy. Wasn’t an assassin, or a rebel, or a scheming blood mage. 

Wasn't a villain at all. 

The brand was real. She really _ had _ been Tranquil— which meant she really _had_ been a pawn. Used and discarded by the true culprits.

Left to take the blame. 

Cassandra wanted to hit something. 

Instead she pried the woman’s trembling hand from her wrist, and held it as firmly as she could while still being gentle. 

“What is your name?” 

“Asha.” She looked up at Cassandra, gaze still full of uncertainty. 

“Just Asha?” 

Uncertainty gave way to fear once more. “No. Yes. I…” 

Cassandra gave her hand a soft squeeze. Did her best to look encouraging. 

“The Templars,” said Asha. “They told me I wasn’t a Trevelyan anymore. But then the others... the mages, told me I was. Told me I had a right to say so.” 

“Asha Trevelyan, then.” Cassandra shifted her grip, and shook the woman’s hand. “My name is Cassandra Pentaghast, and I need you to follow me." 

  
  
  


*****

  
  


“We call it the Breach.” 

Asha’s limbs were lead. Her blood was flame, her heart pounding, pounding, _ pounding _ in her chest—

“It is a massive rift into the Fade that grows larger with each passing hour.” 

A _ rift? _ It was a _ storm, _filling the sky, spewing green flame… 

“It’s not the only such rift,” said Cassandra. “Just the largest.” 

Green as her hand. 

Oh no. 

Did she…? 

No, she couldn’t have, she didn’t have magic. 

...did she? 

She felt again. Did that mean… ?

“All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave— and you are the only one who survived the Conclave. This is why we cannot make you Tranquil again.”

What? 

No. No no no— 

“We have no idea how it would affect the Mark on your hand… and that Mark may be our only hope of stopping this.” 

_ How, _she opened her mouth to say. 

But a clap of thunder rolled down out of the mountains, and with it lightning, _ green _ lightning, and the cursed Mark flared in answer and that lightning was _ inside her _, burning up her arm and through her chest— 

She clenched her fist against the pain. The ground was cold beneath her knees. 

Cassandra was there in an instant, crouched in the snow before her. She looked as fierce, as determined as ever— 

—and Asha _ knew _what her expressions meant without referring to her charts, now— 

—but there was also… pain?

“Every time the Breach expands, the Mark spreads… and it is killing you.” 

No. 

_ Concern. _

“It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.” 

When was the last time someone had looked concerned for her? From the other mages there was only fear, and discomfort, and from the Templars…

From the Templars… 

Oh Maker. 

“Lady Trevelyan?”

It wasn’t just men, chasing her through that place— it was _ Templars, _Ser Auster and Ser Thorpe and Ser Gentry— 

_ “Asha.” _

—faces red and mouths open, eyes hungry— 

“Asha, I need you to listen to me.” 

Cassandra. Pentaghast. Not a Templar. Kneeling in the snow with a mage. Hadn’t hurt her. 

Yet. 

Because of the Mark. Because of— 

“The Breach. This—” She flexed her hand, pain tingling through it— “This can help?” 

“Perhaps. We must find out. It is our only hope… and yours.” 

“You… still think I did this?”

“No.” 

Asha looked up into her kohl-rimmed eyes. 

“I think a great crime has been committed against you.” 

Hazel eyes. Beautiful eyes. 

Because Asha could _ tell _now when someone was beautiful, could feel it in her heart.

Or when someone was handsome. 

Because Cassandra, as it happened, was quite fiercely both.

Those eyes, that jawline, that rugged scar and short-cropped hair… 

As if there weren’t enough feelings warring for control of Asha’s soul. 

“I think a crime has been committed against you,” Cassandra insisted and even her _ accent _ was lovely— “and I intend to see it made right. But first we _ must _ deal with the Breach.” 

Then she was standing, tall and strong, and offering Asha one gauntleted hand. 

Steadfast in the chaos, the biting cold and pain and _ panic _—

Asha took her hand, and followed. 

  
  
  


*****

  
  
  


The Divine was dead. _ Peace _ was dead.

And everyone blamed her. 

Everyone except for Cassandra. Cassandra who cut her bonds and let her walk free, who stood between her and anyone who dared look at her wrong, who helped her to her feet with strong hands and calm confidence… 

“How…” Maker, she still wasn’t used to the feeling in her own voice. “How _ did _I survive the blast?”

“They say you stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you.” 

Yes— the woman, she’d helped her, saved her from those Templars… 

No. 

Rift. Fade. Not Templars— demons. 

A sickly chill settled in Asha’s gut. 

Had emotions been so… _ physical, _before? She couldn’t remember. 

“No one knows who she was.” 

Right. The woman. 

“Everything farther into the valley was laid waste… including the Temple of Sacred Ashes.” Cassandra turned to look up the road before them. 

“I suppose you’ll see soon enough.” 

And then a bridge shattered out from under them. 

Asha fell, bouncing and rolling off hard stone, ice tearing open the skin of her hands. 

She liked pain better when it _ didn’t _come with fear, when it didn’t make her heart pound like it was trying to explode out of her ribs—

Something struck the ice before them— more green flames, and within them something writhing, something ragged and clawed and _ angry _and—

“Stay behind me!” 

Cassandra surged forward, sword drawn and shield up, slamming into the creature without hesitation. 

Graceful. 

The ice in front of Asha turned black. Bubbled. Hissed. Something was moving in it. 

She stumbled back— and almost tripped over a smashed crate, splintered wood and swords and shields and—

There! 

She lunged, snatching the staff up, muscle memory taking over as she spun it into a fighting stance. Bless the others for making sure the Tranquil could defend themselves from… 

Templars. 

Not demons. _ Never _demons. 

The creature unfurled from the cracked ice, all twisted flesh and too-long claws, reaching for her with a gurgling shriek. 

With a scream of her own, Asha swung.

Something rushed through in a wave, from core to arms to staff—

Thunder.

The demon was thrown like a ragdoll, sprawling across the ice— and the ice was splitting, cracks shooting out from where she’d struck. 

Another horrible shriek drew Asha’s eye, just in time to see Cassandra tear her sword out of the other demon’s misshapen form and look back, eyes widening. 

Asha dropped the staff. “I didn’t mean to—!” 

Cassandra turned on her, sword held ready. 

“What did you _ do?” _

“I don’t know!” Asha shrank back. 

But she did. 

Magic. Her _ magic _was back. 

_ Apostate. _

Oh no. 

Cassandra’s striking eyes darted from her to the cracks, to the pulverized remains of the demon, back to Asha. 

“I swear I didn’t mean to, it just _ happened, _I didn’t—” 

“Asha!” 

Asha closed her mouth. 

“Pick up your staff.” 

“What?” 

“You can’t control your magic. Better you have a staff, to focus it somewhat— and to defend yourself when I cannot. Come. We need to get off this ice.” 

Oh. Yes, it _ was _ groaning, somewhat. 

  
  
  


*****

  
  
  
  


It worked. She _ could _ close the rifts. It felt fucking strange, but it worked. She could _ help. _

And there was another apostate here, and he’d _ been _here for days, allowed to stay, trusted with the task of healing her… 

And now yet again, Cassandra was defending her, standing between her and the furious Chancellor. So was the hooded woman, in a way… 

It was different now, to hear people argue. It _ affected _her, their angry words plucking at the chaos inside her like lute-strings, sharp and discordant…

While the banner of the Chantry fluttered in the wind. 

Asha ran her fingers across her brow. Felt the smooth, narrow ridges of the brand. 

She remembered the pain, but it was… _ distant? _Indistinct? She wasn’t sure. She remembered seeing her reflection, too, at some point afterward, but that too was almost… without substance. 

Emotion must’ve been important to the formation of memories. 

Had anyone written about that? She couldn’t remember if anyone had—

The sky flashed green. 

Pain lanced through Asha’s arm, snapping taught all the muscles of her left side from leg to neck—

It faded just as quickly… and then everyone was looking at her. Once more there was concern in Cassandra’s eyes, but everyone else… they looked like they were expecting something. 

Oh no, had someone asked her—

“Asha.” Cassandra turned to face her fully, stepped closer. “Are you alright?” 

“I… I don’t know.” 

“Is it your magic?” 

“No. I’m just… remembering.”

“If you’re in need of a tiebreaker…” said Varric—

“Silence, dwarf.” 

“I advise we charge with the troops,” said Solas. “The more risk involved, the more difficult it will be for her to control her magic.” 

“Wait just a moment!” Roderick leaned forward, hands on the table— “You mean to tell me you intend to gamble all our fates on an apostate who could lose control at any moment?”

Cassandra did not look at him. “I don’t mean to tell you anything, Chancellor." 

Varric chuckled. 

Asha decided she liked him. 

Which was, in and of itself, very strange.

Cassandra looked at Leliana. For a moment, Leliana simply stared back, face an indifferent mask. 

Then she nodded. 

Cassandra turned to Asha again, and under her commanding gaze, Asha felt the knot in her stomach loosen a bit. 

She stood up a bit straighter. Breathed a bit deeper. Nodded. 

Cassandra turned to the soldiers around them. 

“We charge.”


End file.
